Christine's Choice
by ryanalicia
Summary: Christine chooses the Phantom and decides to ease the pain of her imprisonment by trying to become his friend. He wants more than pity, however, and Christine soon comes to realize how hard it is to just be roommates with the man who hold the keys to her soul.
1. Chapter 1

Christine's Choice

by Spikesmyvice

CHAPTER ONE

_"You try my patience. Make your choice."_

In some part of her heart, Christine felt a spark of gladness that it had come to this, that he had taken the choice from her and forced her hand, making up for her lack of courage.

"I choose to remain with you."

His eyes stayed glued to hers for a long moment, and she was the first to look away.

"Don't throw your life away, Christine," Raoul said. "You don't have to do that for me."

She shook her head. "You don't understand. I can't leave him. I just can't do it. I need him. I need his music. It's my life."

Raoul looked at her in confusion. "Christine, you don't mean that. You agreed to marry me."

She sighed. "And perhaps that was the smart choice, Raoul, but it wasn't a choice I made with my heart. My heart belongs here. With him."

"You heard her," the Phantom said. "You can go now."

He strode purposefully through the water, and the grate started to rise, though she'd not seen him move any lever or press any button. When he reached Raoul, he untied the noose from around his neck, and they stood staring at each other.

"Leave this place, Viscount, and never come back," the Phantom said.

"Christine doesn't make this choice freely," Raoul said, stepping back. "I'll be back with an army if I have to."

The Phantom smiled a cruel smile. "If you return, I'll kill her."

Raoul's mouth dropped open. "I don't believe you," he said finally. "You wouldn't hurt her."

"I wouldn't _want_ to hurt her, but I'd kill her before I'd see her married to you. Believe that, Viscount, and gauge your actions accordingly. Christine's life is in your hands. Accept her choice and she lives."

"Living with you is hardly living."

"If you return, you'll be the one to extinguish her light, her voice. She'll never be yours. That I promise."

Raoul took another step back. Then another. He looked over the Phantom's shoulder at Christine. "I'm so sorry, my love. But you mustn't give up hope. You will find a way to escape. I know you will. And then this creature will face justice."

"I won't try to escape, Raoul. I've made my choice."

"I know you don't mean that, Christine. Don't give up hope."

"It's time for you to leave, Viscount," the Phantom said.

Raoul took one last long look at her and retraced his steps through the water and then up the stairs.

The Phantom turned to her. "You were very convincing, my dear. I almost believed you myself."

She looked at him – at his misshapen face. "Believe what you will. I'm yours now. What do you intend to do with me?"

The rage left his face, and now he just looked puzzled.

"Well?" she demanded.

"I didn't mean it, you know," he said. "Your viscount is right. I could never hurt you. Never."

Christine pursed her lips, considering. "I know, but I think Raoul believed you. He'd believe anything of you."

"But you don't? You see something in me?" His eyes were wide, his hope on display.

"I see my teacher – the maker of the music I can't live without."

His gaze became shuttered against her.

"I can't live without your music," she said, "and you can't live without my voice. We are in bondage together in more ways than one."

He took two steps closer to her and nodded over her shoulder. "You have a room here."

She felt her eyes widen with her surprise. "You don't intend to force yourself on me, then?"

He snorted. "I love you, Christine. I didn't bring you here to rape you."

"Just imprison me."

His face fell. "So it was all lies. You don't have to pretend anymore. I can accept that you're only here to save your viscount."

"How can you accept that? Can you really?"

He smiled a rueful smile. "Having you near me is more than I ever hoped for. It will sustain me."

"Even if all I feel for you is hate?"

He looked at her for a long time. "I don't think you hate me. You don't love me, but you don't hate me."

Christine dropped her gaze, finding herself staring at the smooth skin revealed by his open shirt collar. "Will you show me to my room now?"

He gestured for her to turn, so she did and preceded him up three low steps. Through a gauzy black curtain she could see the ornate swan bed on which she'd awoken the last time she was here. Next to that was an open doorway that revealed a room full, top to bottom, with shelves covered with sheets of music.

"The next one is yours," he told her.

This room had a blue velvet curtain, and she raised a tentative hand to part the folds. Inside was a lovely little room with a white four-poster bed and matching dressing table, night stand and wardrobe. The bed was covered with white sheets and an embroidered cream coverlet. There was a vase of red roses on the night stand, and a silver mirror and brush sat on the dressing table.

"I know there'll be other things you'll need," he said from close behind her. "I'll get you whatever you want – whatever you need to feel at home here."

She laughed bitterly. "I've not felt at home for a very long time. Not since my father died."

He sighed. "You don't have to tell me that an opera house is not a home, Christine. But I've learned that home is what you make it. You'll make this your home, in time."

She shrugged. "It's a beautiful room. Perhaps you're right."

She thought she could feel tension leaving his body, though he wasn't touching her in any way.

"Rest now," he said. "I won't disturb you. There are clothes for you in the wardrobe."

She stepped through the curtain without looking back at him and waited until she heard him move away. Then she opened the wardrobe and examined its contents. Finery like she'd never known was laid out before her – beautiful dresses of satin and velvet. There was some more casual attire – long wool skirts in gray and linen shirts in lovely pastels. A white night dress completed the package, and she removed it from its hanger and put it on.

Sitting down at the dressing table, she brushed out her curls, removing the pins that the costumer had put in place to tame them during the show.

On bare feet, she padded over to the bed and climbed in on top of the billowy down mattress. It snuggled up around her, and she took solace in its embrace.

The next morning she woke and noticed for the first time that there was a curtained doorway in her room beside her bed. She got up and parted another blue velvet curtain to reveal a bathroom with modern fixtures and a gigantic, footed tub. It had knobs and she wondered how he managed to get hot and cold running water in this place. But she supposed nothing was impossible with enough time and ingenuity. And he certainly had lots of both.

She decided to try out the tub and washed herself and her hair with the rose scented soap she found on a little table by the door. A soft towel hung on a peg beside the toilet, and she dried off and wrapped the towel around her hair, and then went to go dress, opting for one of the gray skirts and a pale pink shirt.

She wondered how she'd spend her first day in captivity, and she left the false security of her room to go find her jailor.

He was dressed much as he had been last night – in a loose white shirt and black trousers. Today he wore a black mask, and Christine wondered at her disappointment that he'd gone back to hiding his face from her. Surely she preferred the mask?

She watched as he scribbled notes onto a blank sheet of music.

"How can you compose without playing?" she asked.

He turned to her, swiveling on the piano bench. "The music is in my head. I don't need to play it first. I only play it after – to see where it needs improvement."

She smiled. "I'm surprised any of your work needs improvement."

He didn't return her smile. "There's always room for improvement. That's why we work so hard."

"And will we work today?"

He nodded. "After you've had breakfast." He gestured to a tray sitting on a low table in front of a red velvet sofa. It held coffee and a variety of pastries, with butter and jam. She sat and took advantage of the hospitality. She'd been far too nervous to eat yesterday, and hunger was starting to make her feel weak.

"How can you be so calm?" she asked. "Just because Raoul is out of the picture doesn't mean the police won't come looking for you. They may have been too busy seeing to the fleeing patrons last night, but that doesn't mean they won't come."

"This place can't be found unless I want it to be. I'm not worried about a search party. Besides, I've composed a letter to your idiot managers. I'm going to renounce my role as opera ghost, provided they make you the lead when the opera reopens."

"How do you know it will reopen?"

"I'm sending them a substantial donation toward its reconstruction – enough for at least a new chandelier. There really wasn't so much damage. The fire never got out of the main auditorium. And I'm foregoing my salary as of today."

"How will you live?"

He laughed. "Worried about me? Or just wondering if I can keep you in dresses?"

"Just curious is all."

"I have a solicitor. He manages the investment of my salary, and I have done very well. I'm not a poor man, Christine. You've no need to worry that I can provide for you."

"The Phantom has a solicitor?" She couldn't keep the disbelief from her question.

He laughed. "I do occasionally leave this lair. When needs must."

"Does the Phantom have a name?"

That question seemed to surprise him. "In all the years you've known me, you've never asked my name."

"I've only known you were a man for a short time. I didn't think to ask my angel's name, and wouldn't have dared if I had thought of it."

"Don't say you've never thought that your angel might be flesh and blood. It must have occurred to you."

She thought. "Not really. It's not how I wanted things to be, so I ignored all evidence to the contrary."

"I'm sorry to deprive you of your angel," he said, his voice softening.

"It's alright. I understand how hard it must have been for you, hiding behind yet another disguise for all those years."

He sighed. "But I loved that I could give you your dream. I just hoped that someday you could give me mine."

She remained silent, and he turned back to face the piano. "Shall I play it for you?" he asked.

"Your new piece? Of course. You know I love to hear you play."

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes as the notes began to fill the room. She new without instruction that this was a tale of lovers. Two threads – independent at first, then finding harmony. For a moment, she wished she could give him the closeness he so clearly longed for.

"You live in your music, don't you?" she asked as he ended with a minor flourish.

"Why would I live anywhere else? You've no idea how the real world has treated me."

"I think I've some idea. Why don't you tell me about it?"

He shook his head, not looking at her. "My burdens are not yours to bear, Christine. I won't do that to you."

She rose and went to stand behind him. He didn't move, and, very slowly, she reached out to lay her hands on his shoulders. His spine went rigid.

"I can't give you what you want. But perhaps I can be your friend?"

"I'm not sure I know what that means. No friends have ever found me."

"It means you should at least tell me your name."

He sighed. "Erik. My name is Erik."

"Erik…" she repeated.

She saw a slight smile crease the unmasked side of his face, and he relaxed beneath her hands.

"Will you stand like that while you sing for me?" he asked. "Is that something a friend would do?"

"I can do that," she replied.

He leaned forward and began the introduction to the aria from _Hannibal_. Muscles bunched and released under her fingers as he played, and she wondered at her sudden urge to stroke them.

He stopped playing. "You missed your cue."

"What? Oh. Will you start again?"

"Only if you're with me this time."

"I'm with you."


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

The first week passed in much the same way as they had spent their first day – standing at the piano. When, on the second day, he began to sing with her, Christine had had the bizarre feeling that there was nowhere else she'd rather be. His voice was like a balm to her soul, erasing her fears and resentments. How could she hate beauty?

Despite his earlier threat, he was never without his mask when she was in the room. Her eternity was apparently to be spent looking at a masked man rather than a deformed one. She wasn't sure which she preferred.

On the seventh day of her captivity, she asked him again to tell her of his life before the opera house.

"Ah, Christine. Is that something a friend would tell you?"

"I believe so, yes. Burdens shared are burdens lessened. That's what friends do."

He didn't reply.

"You shared so many of my burdens. My angel of music helped me keep grief and loneliness at bay. Why won't you let me do the same for you?"

"I'm not sure I know how to share," he replied.

"Where were you born?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Somewhere in Paris as far as I know."

"What about your parents?"

There was a long silence. "I never had a father. My mother took in laundry to support us. Before she sold me, that is."

Christine sucked in a breath. "Sold you?"

"To a traveling carnival. She was only too glad to be rid of her devil's child. And the circus was only too glad to have me. I was a beast in a cage, Christine. Just like all the other animals, only not so well treated."

The images in her mind all made her want to cry out. To weep. "How long were you…like that?"

He shrugged. "Until I was about ten. Then I killed my keeper and escaped. Madame Giry, just a girl then herself, helped me to hide in the opera house, and I have never left. It has been the kindest home I've known."

"I'm so sorry." She knew those words were inadequate.

"I don't want your pity. I'm not that trapped boy any longer."

"No, you're the opera ghost. Now you do the terrorizing."

"I just do what I have to do to keep myself safe – and to keep my opera house running as it should."

She smiled. "You really hate the new managers, don't you?"

"They are incompetent boobs who don't know the first thing about art. I'm lucky they had sense enough to realize your talent."

"I'm lucky you're so handy with falling scenery."

He laughed. "You don't think that the act of a monster?"

"Do you know how many people would love to drop a piano on Carlotta? I think you showed admirable restraint."

He laughed again, but then stopped abruptly. "I don't remember the last time I laughed, Christine. Thank you."

Her heart threatened to rend in two, and she kept silent.

"You are an excellent friend," he said.

That night she awoke to soft, mournful sounds from the organ. The notes touched her heart, and she knew he was thinking of the past she had made him dredge up earlier in the day.

She climbed out of bed and walked through her curtain, intending to go to his side, but the sight of him stopped her in her tracks.

He wasn't wearing a shirt, and she sucked in a breath. Dear God.

His back was criss-crossed with white scars, but they had the smooth look of injuries long faded. What took her aback was the perfection of the man underneath. She had felt the muscles of his shoulders under her hands, and now she had the picture to go with it. His whole body swayed and flowed in time to the stricken notes.

When the song ended, he spoke. "I'm sorry I woke you," he said, "but why do you stare? You must have known there'd be scars."

He turned to face her, revealing a smooth, unscarred chest. Her throat clenched and she couldn't form an answer.

He frowned. "Christine, are you alright?" He rose and took a few steps toward her.

She stepped back, bumping into her curtain door.

He stopped moving and looked at her. "Christine?"

"I…I'm sorry. I've…well, I've never seen a man before."

"What?" He dragged his gaze away from hers and looked down at himself. "Oh. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she said before her brain had a chance to take it back.

He cocked his head and looked at her, clearly not understanding. Then realization seemed to dawn. "You…you like looking at me?"

"I think so, yes."

She saw him take a deep breath.

"Is that what friends do?" he asked softly.

"Definitely not," she replied, finding her voice. "I think I'd better go back to my room."

"Definitely."

Erik watched Christine's curtained door for a long time after she'd backed through it. Then he turned and pulled back one of the curtains that covered his punishing full-length mirrors. He looked long and hard at his reflection. It was true; his chest looked like that of any man. And that's what Christine had reacted to, he told himself. It wasn't him in particular. It was the shock of seeing a man's half-naked form.

But she'd said she liked looking at him. He cursed the sudden hope that flared within him. She didn't want him. It could have been any man standing there before her, getting her girl's reaction.

But what if? he dared to ask himself. What if it wasn't a girl's reaction, but a woman's? Could he have some sway over her beyond his music?

His heart clenched, almost doubling him over. To know her touch on his skin – the idea burned and flared within him. He'd thought he'd banked his ever present need for her. He'd thought he could be content with their tentative friendship. He'd thought that was more than he deserved.

On that score, he was sure he was right. But he was also sure he was selfish enough to want more.

Christine woke in a fevered agony of tortured dream remnants. All night, she'd felt the burning heat of Erik's beautiful chest pressed against her. He lay warm and heavy on top of her, touching her lips with his. And then she was awake and there was nothing more. And she was panting for more.

She scolded herself, bathed, dressed, and vowed not to leave her room that day. She'd claim she was sick. That had to be the truth. She couldn't want a monster. She couldn't want him close to her…doing things to her.

"Christine?" His voice was right outside her door. "Breakfast is ready."

"Uh…I'm not hungry this morning. I didn't sleep well. I just want to rest."

She heard his retreating footsteps and breathed a sigh of relief, but then suddenly he was standing in her room. His reflection stared at her in her dressing table mirror.

He held up a tray and then put it down on the corner of her nightstand. "In case you get hungry later."

"Oh," she said. "Uhm…thank you."

"Are you sure you're not ill?"

She shook her head. "I'm fine." And she'd be fine as long as he kept his shirt on.

Then inspiration struck her. Maybe there was another way. "Why do you still wear the mask?" she asked.

He looked taken aback. "You'd rather I not wear it?"

She nodded, turning to face him.

He looked long into her eyes. "So you can see me as a monster again, Christine? Is that it?"

She felt the damning blush as it rushed to her cheeks.

Erik closed the distance between them and pulled her up by her wrists. Then one hand found the small of her back, and before she knew what had happened, her body was flush against his. And he was warm – just the way she'd dreamed.

She felt her blush grow brighter.

"What's the matter, Christine?" he asked. "Are you afraid to see me as a man?"

"We…we can't do this," she stammered. "We're friends, nothing more."

He laughed. "What's the matter, little Christine? Did you dream of me last night? Of me touching you?"

She swallowed hard and didn't reply.

"I dreamt of you," he said. "I dreamt of holding you like this." He jammed his hand into her hair, pulling her head back, forcing her to look at him. "I dreamed of kissing you until you begged me for more."

He lowered his voice. "Would you do that for me, Christine? Would you beg me?"

She clenched her teeth. "Never," she ground out.

"I think you're a little liar," he said. He pulled his hand out of her hair and moved it to cup one of her breasts.

She made a noise that shamed her – something between a gasp and a moan. He began to move his hand, and she felt the world shifting around her. "Please," she gasped.

He stopped instantly, removed his hand and stepped back from her.

Her legs felt watery, and she reached back to steady herself on the dressing table, knowing he couldn't help but notice, but not having any choice if she wanted to remain upright.

"You have nothing to fear from me," he said. "I'll never treat you with disrespect. You must know that."

"I don't call coming into my room uninvited and manhandling me respectful treatment," she pointed out.

He smiled and held up his hands. "Perhaps I shouldn't have come in uninvited. You could be right – but my intentions were pure."

She snorted, and he smiled at her again. "It's you who put impure thoughts in my head, my dear."

"I did no such thing."

"When your own impure thoughts are so visible on that pretty face, you can hardly lay the blame on me."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He turned and stepped toward the door. "You can't hide in here all day, Christine."

"Watch me," she called out to his retreating back.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Christine kept her word and stayed all day behind the protective curtain of her room. She found a pen and paper and wrote pretend letters to Meg and Madame Giry. She got as far as writing Raoul's name on a sheet of paper, but then stopped. She'd said to him all there was to say. Whether he believed her was another matter, but she'd made her own truths clear.

And then she heard Erik begin to sing. She'd never heard another voice like his. He knew the nuance of every note and made them ring with passion and beauty. His voice called to her, wrapping her in a golden web. That part of what she'd said was also true – they were bound together.

She parted the curtain and went to find him, not approaching, just sinking down onto the red sofa to recline and listen.

He was dressed in his usual formal attire this time, and for that she stopped to give a silent word of thanks. Her world needed no further complications and having any sort of feeling for him beyond gratitude and pity would definitely be a complication.

"I thought that might bring you out," he said when he'd finished playing. "It's nearly dinner time. I don't want you to starve."

"I told you I was just tired," she repeated. "I feel much better now."

He finally turned to her. "I'm glad. And I'm sorry for my actions earlier. You've offered me friendship, and it's more than I deserve. I don't want you to ever feel uncomfortable or afraid of me. You've no reason to fear me, Christine."

She sighed, giving only brief credence to the idea that it was herself she feared. "I don't fear you, Erik."

"Why not?" he asked, seeming genuinely puzzled. "I'm keeping you a prisoner. I've forced you to abandon your life as a Vicountess. I threatened your lover's life and your own."

"Tell me something," she said. "Did you kill Piangi?"

He snorted. "That oaf? Someone should put him out of his misery of having to hang on Carlotta's every word, but that someone wasn't me. I knocked him unconscious and put a noose around his neck to add some distraction to our escape. But no, I didn't kill him. That fool has never done anything but his best, sorry as his best is."

"What about Joseph Buquet?" she pursued. "Is what they say true? Did you hang him? No one believes he committed suicide."

There was a long silence. "I'm not your Angel, Christine. I do what I have to do to protect myself. That lecher was intent on finding me out. He'd seen me once too often, and he let curiosity get the better of his good judgment. He'd become convinced I wasn't a ghost, and he thought to be the hero by finding me out." He looked at her. "I can't be found out, Christine. I have no life outside this opera house. There is no sanctuary, nowhere else for me to run. I won't be subject to the cruelty of the outside world again, no matter what I have to do to stop it."

She pondered this while he rose and returned with a plate of roasted chicken and rice.

"I think I'll eat in my room, if you don't mind," she said as he handed the plate to her.

He remained silent. "Within these halls you are free to do as you like. I won't stop you. Go if you wish."

She didn't know what she wished, but she needed space – to be out of his all-encompassing presence. She did eat, but her heart wasn't in it. She was too busy analyzing her feelings about what he'd said of Mr. Buquet. Could she truly view it as self defense? She could certainly see why he would call it that. His life had been lived in reverse – paying tenfold as a child for the crimes he'd commit as a man. She wondered idly if she could bring balance back. Would emotion and caring light some flicker in him of respect for humankind? Perhaps she should try. Perhaps it was her moral duty?

That thought comforted her. It made her feelings for him into something right instead of something wrong. It answered the question of how she could bear a murderer as a friend. Now she'd found something besides music for them to build on.

But why did she want to build something with him? To ease the burden of her confinement? To try to twist his tortured soul back into something resembling that of a man? She thought these were all fine answers and she vowed to start tomorrow trying to be a better influence on him. He thought to bring her down into his darkness; perhaps she could bring him a little light.

In the morning, she put on the brightest dress she could find – a pale pink satin creation. She would try to be beautiful for him in every way. She knew he craved beauty in a life he viewed as vile.

She noticed his eyes rove over the exposed skin at her neck and collarbone, but he said nothing, merely turned back to his piano.

"Are you ready to begin?" he asked.

She crossed the space between them and came to stand beside the piano. On this side, she faced his mask, and she wondered again at the sudden desire she had to remove it. As soon as the thought entered her head, she remembered the disastrous result the last time she had removed his mask. No, she thought, if it came off again in her presence it would have to be by his own hand.

When he started to play, she rewarded him with a bright smile. His brow furrowed at her, but his mastery of the notes didn't falter. Then she began to sing, and she sang with all the emotion she could muster – all her gratitude for her Angel, all her pity for the child he had been, all her admiration for the genius he was, all the warmth she felt at the way he revered her, loved her.

When the music stopped, Erik didn't look up.

She got worried. "Were you not pleased?"

"That may have been the best I've ever heard you perform."

"Then why are you staring at the piano?"

"Because your eyes say too much. You seemed to sing for me, and I would not look at your face and have that lovely thought dashed by the distance between us." He did look up at her then. "Or do you sing for your precious viscount? Are you plagued by futile memories of him?"

She let out her breath in a huff, thinking her brilliant plan was going to be harder than she'd thought. "I've been quite surprised, really, by how little thought I've given to Raoul. He deserves a better wife than I would have made, and I'm sure he'll find one."

"Indeed. He must have women lining up to audition for the role."

She giggled. "That's probably too true."

"Did you sing for me, then?" His lyrical voice betrayed a slight quaver.

"I did."

He looked back down at the piano keys. "Why, Christine? I've given you no reason to feel anything but hate for me."

"That's not true, and you know it."

He sighed. "But your Angel is gone. He never really was. It was all a lie, Christine. A lie to be close to you and the voice that had mesmerized me."

"Didn't you say yourself that you don't believe I hate you?"

He was silent in response.

"Believe what your heart tells you, Erik. You'll get no hate from me."

"But now you know of my sins. I'm a murderer, Christine. All you know should tell you to hate me." He looked up at her. "You are innocent, and you should condemn me for the blackness on my soul."

"Whatever blackens your soul was put there by cruelty I can't imagine. How can I blame you for not recognizing right from wrong when only wrongs have ever been done to you?"

"You make excuses for me. And you pity me. I don't want your pity, Christine."

"I've seen the scars on your back, and I see the scars on your soul. You'll always have my pity. It would be a crime to give you anything less."

"Fine, then. I want more than your pity."

"I've offered you my friendship."

He sighed. "And you know I want more than your friendship." He let his gaze run the length of her body, then back to meet her gaze. "It would appall you, the things I want."

It was her turn to sigh. "Perhaps you're right. Can my friendship not be enough – for now?"

"For now?" he repeated.

She sucked in a breath. "I…I didn't mean…"

He lowered his gaze. "I know you didn't mean you could ever love me. I know that's beyond my reach. How could you ever love a monster? You are my opposite in every way. You're everything that's good and beautiful. And I'm everything that's…not."

"Then play again – and let me share beauty and goodness with you. You've got me here, all to yourself. Why won't you accept my small gift today?"

He paused to consider. "A gift for me?"

An arrow pierced her heart. "Have you never received a gift, Erik?"

He shook his head. "The world has never shown me anything but horrors."

She didn't know what to say, so she waited, and soon his hands resumed their trek across the keys. Again she poured her heart into the song – a song of thwarted love – and at the end she was shocked to see tears streaming down his face. They ran from his blue eyes down to his jaw, visible even below the edge of the mask.

Fighting down a bolt of anxiousness, she stepped forward and wiped them with the tips of her fingers. He grabbed her hands and placed light kisses on her knuckles.

"Thank you," he whispered. "You don't know how it moves me to have you sing for me – the real me, not some disembodied, illusory voice."

"You don't know how it moves me to be able to sing for the man, instead of the ever-perfect Angel."

He looked up at her. "Really? Why would you prefer my sordid imperfection?"

"Because you are real. And you're my friend."

He shook his head. "Would you leave me for a while? I feel the need to play on my own."

"Can I watch?" she asked.

He gave her a puzzled glance. "Why would you want to watch? You can hear just as well from your room."

"Because you are beautiful when you play. You play with your whole body, and it thrills me to watch your genius made flesh."

The puzzled look didn't leave him. "I…Then, of course, you may watch if you desire."

She pulled her hands from his and went to sit on the sofa. She was close enough to see him, but from across the room, she thought he could ignore her presence and lose himself in his music.

It seemed she was wrong about that. After two thirds of a symphony, he stopped playing and turned to look at her.

"Will you come stand behind me?" he asked. "Like you did before? You told me that was something friends would do."

She rose without comment and came to do his bidding. She felt him relax through the thick fabric of his black coat. Then he finished the symphony, again with his eyes closed, leaning back into her touch.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

"I have to go out tonight for a bit, Christine," he said after clearing their dinner dishes away.

"Out?"

He smiled. "I do occasionally leave the opera house."

"What are you going to do?"

"You don't trust me? Must I be up to some nefarious purpose?"

She rolled her eyes. "I didn't mean that at all. I was just curious."

He threw on a black cloak that she hadn't noticed lying on the piano bench. "If you must know, I'd arranged a temporary apartment for Madame Giry and her daughter. I want to see if they have everything they need."

Christine felt her brows shoot up. "Ooh. May I go?"

His gaze turned dark. "What's this? Finally heeding your lover's plea to try to find an escape?" He took a step toward her. "I'll never let you go, Christine."

She pursed her lips, deciding that to fight him when he was in this mood would be futile. "May I at least send them my letters, then?"

"Letters?" he asked.

She nodded. "I wrote them earlier, when I thought to have no hope of ever seeing them again – or even of having my letters delivered. I would like to reassure them that I'm okay."

Erik put his hands to his face and ran them wearily down. "I'll give them your letters. But you'll see them again when the opera reopens. You won't always be confined to these quarters. Judging by the noise from upstairs, work has already begun."

"You're so confident of your ability to keep me confined within an entire opera house?"

He nodded. "I am. You'll find no escape that way."

"What about Raoul?"

"I think my threat will carry the day. If he becomes a problem, I may have to make other plans. Viscounts aren't immune to 'accidents'."

"Please don't hurt him," she whispered before good sense could instruct her otherwise.

Erik's gaze turned more malevolent. "Still pleading for his life? You are a scheming wench, aren't you?"

"That's not fair. I just don't wish the murder of a good man."

"Tell me, Christine. Do you regret your choice every single day? Are there any moments when you are happy here?"

She thought long and hard. "I don't regret my choice, Erik."

"I don't think I believe you. You were going to marry him."

She shook her head. "No, I don't think I was. I just hadn't worked up the nerve to tell him. Everyone would have thought me insane. I wasn't quite ready to face that."

"So you chose music over no music." It wasn't a question.

"Yes," she replied, answering anyway. "You give me more than Raoul ever could."

His face grew pained. "But he could give you everything," he whispered. "Everything you deserve. I can only give you darkness."

"I love the darkness when it has you in it, when it carries your voice."

She saw him stiffen.

"Run fetch your letters," he said, turning away from her toward the lake. "I'll deliver them."

She did as he commanded and watched as his form grew smaller across the expanse of candlelit water.

When he returned, she was half asleep on the luxurious sofa. "How are they?" she asked, concerned and hopeful.

He nodded. "Everything is as it should be. They are fine. I have promised to return to them in three days time. They will have letters for me to return to you."

"Oh, really? That's wonderful!"

"Are you so lonely here?"

She laughed. "A bit. I'm surprised to miss the bustle of the opera house, but in some of the quiet moments I find that I do. Other than that…" She shrugged. "You're surprisingly good company."

He smiled at her beneath the mask as his hands went to undo the ties of his cloak. He walked over to her and lay it across the back of the sofa. His black evening jacket followed, and then his hands hovered over the top button of his shirt.

Christine felt her eyes go wide.

Watching her closely, he undid first one button and then another. "I find evening dress very…constraining," he told her.

"Then why wear it all the time?"

He laughed. "I have my reputation as the opera ghost to uphold."

"I thought you'd given that up?"

"I suppose I have, but I guess I just want to look as much like a man as I can for you. You deserve a gentleman, someone civilized. If I dress the part, maybe one day I can be that for you."

She felt her gaze drift to the skin and stretch of chest hair revealed by his now open shirt, and she felt his eyes on her.

"Or would you prefer less of a gentleman, Christine?"

She looked up at him. "I'm sorry…what did you say?"

He watched her for a moment. "Would you like to see me again, Christine? Are you brave enough to say it?"

She almost laughed. "When have you ever known me to be brave?"

He snorted and nodded at her – but he also started releasing the remaining buttons – and Christine found herself holding her breath.

When he shrugged out of his shirt, she couldn't stop her roving gaze.

"Why do you like the sight of me?" he asked. "In this respect, don't I look like any other man?"

"I don't know about other men," she replied, stating what she thought should be obvious. "You just look like Erik. You look beautiful."

"How can you say such things to me?" he whispered.

"It's true," she replied simply.

He growled at her. "Then prove it. Touch me."

When she didn't move, he stalked over to her and pulled her up by her wrists, holding them to his chest. "Touch me, Christine."

She looked at his smooth skin. "I…I don't know how."

Her admission seemed to shake him from his black mood. He released her hands and put his arms around her, pulling her close. Then he placed a soft kiss on the top of her head. "Forgive me," he said. "I would not spoil the thing I love."

Christine suddenly felt that things were going all wrong. She turned her head and placed a soft kiss on the expanse of skin between her hands. She noticed how warm he was, and she slid her hands up to grip his shoulders.

"I don't find you repulsive, Erik," she said, trying to look up at him. All she could see was his jaw, and it was clenched tight. His chest heaved against hers.

"Do you think you could ever love a creature such as me?" he asked, not looking down.

It was her turn to take a deep breath. "I…I don't think I know that yet."

She saw him nod. "But you…you like this? Me holding you like this? Touching me?"

She lowered her head and rested it against his chest. "I do."

"Can I kiss you, Christine?" Now his blue eyes blazed down into hers.

She shook her head. "No," she replied, seeing hope die on his face. "Not with your mask on."

His face grew pained. "Why do you ask that of me? Can't you allow me my dignity?"

"Your mask is not your dignity. It's your fear. I don't want you to be afraid of me."

"Me? Afraid of you?"

She nodded. "You threatened me with an eternity of your face before my eyes. I hold you to your threat."

"But…why?" he asked in a voice that cracked on the question.

"I want to see you, Erik. I want to see your face as much as I want to see the unmarred parts of you."

His face was still pained as he looked at her. "You can't mean that. I know you can't."

"I'm your friend, Erik. I'll never lie to you."

He gave a bitter laugh. "Your very presence here is a lie. This façade of friendship is a lie. I've poisoned it with my ultimatums and my imprisonment. Everything you say is a lie…It must be."

She leaned back against his arms and spread her fingers out against his skin. She slid her hands from his shoulders back down to his chest. When her palms grazed his nipples, he sucked in a gasping breath. Then she moved her hands back up and out to caress his upper arms.

She stopped for a moment to wonder when she'd decided to do this, but it didn't seem to matter as the heat of his skin seared into her. She ran her fingers down his throat, then up along his uncovered jaw. She traced his lips with a single finger, and returned his heated stare.

"Take off the mask and kiss me, Erik."

"But, Christine…"

"You're a very stubborn man."

He lowered his hands to the small of her back and pulled her tighter against him, allowing her to feel his desire. "I am a man, Christine. I just don't want you to lose sight of that. I fear it will be hard for you to remember when confronted with this face."

"You are not your face. I know what you are."

On a heavy sigh, he removed one hand from her back and raised it to his face. The mask came off slowly, and she thought he was giving her time to adjust to the sight.

It was as she remembered, but she didn't feel the rush of pity she'd expected. She reached up to touch the scarred skin, but he shrank back from her.

"Please don't touch me out of pity."

She thought she saw the beginnings of tears in his eyes. "I don't quite know what I'm feeling right now," she admitted, "but it isn't pity. I just want to touch you."

He slowly leaned forward. "No one has ever wanted to touch me."

"Then I'm honored to be the first," she said, grazing his skin with her fingertips. She skimmed over raised scars, sunken scars, the drooping skin underneath his eye. She ran her hand into his wispy hair, then down the back of his head, pulling him to her.

"Would you like to kiss me now?" she asked softly.

He gave a groan. "I've never dared to hope to kiss you."

"But you want to."

"God help me, yes, I want to. I want to so badly."

She stood up on her toes. "Kiss me, Erik. Please."

He slid one hand into her hair and slowly lowered his face to hers, watching her as long as he could. Then he feathered his lips over hers.

She slid her hand down to the back of his neck and pulled him closer, pressing her lips to his this time. They opened their lips at the same time, and the motion of Erik's mouth grew harder, more fevered. His tongue danced into her mouth, and she sucked on it, prompting him to groan and pull her tighter against him.

She briefly wondered where her plan of friendship had gone wrong, but his insistent mouth begged her not to care. And when he released her to rain kisses along her jaw and throat she gave up the analysis. It was too good just to feel what he was doing to her. Just to feel him against her.

She set her hands moving against his skin once more, but then Erik stepped back.

His eyes were wide, and he was looking at her with something between wonder and pain.

"Do you think I'll suddenly take pity on you and let you go?" he asked.

Christine's shoulders sank. "Don't let your fear take something beautiful away from us. Please, Erik. Don't do that."

She looked up to see him shaking, and she moved to stand against him once more. "I don't want you to let me go. Not right now. I want your arms around me."

He gave a strangled gasp. "Do you even know what you're asking?"

She shook her head. "Not really."

He grabbed her arms and dragged her forward for another searing kiss. "Do you like my kisses, Christine? Do you really?"

"I love your kisses. Please, don't stop."

Another tortured gasp, but his lips returned, and she felt more enflamed with every brush of his flesh against hers.

Finally, Erik lifted his head and stepped back once more. "Christine, we have to stop this. I want you so badly, but I want all of you. I don't think you're ready to give me that."

"I…" She really had no answer. She knew too little of what he wanted from her.

Erik raked a hand through his hair.

"Will you leave the mask off?" she asked.

His eyes closed. "If you wish it."

"You can kiss me better without it in the way."

He looked at her. "And will I be kissing you again?"

"If you want to."

He leaned his head back. "I thought I'd run out of prayers, Christine, but you make me beg for patience – and for this not to end."

Christine dragged herself back to her room at his insistence. She watched him as he stood watching her, his face still bathed in wonder. She felt proud to have brought him such an emotion, and she felt bitter disappointment that she didn't know what she was doing. She knew women took lovers all the time, but she'd never considered herself that type of woman. She hadn't even been considering herself a woman for very long. This was all so new.

And why Erik? She couldn't answer that except to surmise that the bonds they shared were growing stronger in their enforced companionship.

A sudden thought flickered into her mind and refused to be replaced. If he released her, would she go? An ache in her chest started up at the thought of leaving him, of not seeing him every day, of not seeing him the way she had seen him these few weeks – smiling, relaxed…longing.

And that was the problem, she thought. She couldn't be his friend because somewhere along the way she'd begun to long for him, too. She longed to feel his beautiful hands on her body.

She let her mind wander with that thought, and others soon followed on its heels – images of mouths and hands. She wanted him, she realized. She wanted him as a lover.

She waited until the notes of his organ ceased and she heard him enter his room. Then she lifted her curtain door and followed him in.

He didn't see her when she entered, and she stood gaping at him again as he removed the shirt he'd obviously replaced. His back was to her, and she examined its network of scars. They were white now, fading into flesh. She wondered what it would take for them to fade from his memory.

She cleared her throat, and he spun around to face her.

"What are you doing here?" he growled.

"I thought you'd be happy to see me," she said. She saw desire flare in his eyes as he took in her flimsy wrap and nightdress.

"You shouldn't be here," he told her.

She raised her hands and untied the gauzy wrap, letting it fall to the floor. "Are you happy to see me yet?"

He grunted and walked toward her, putting his hands on her hips and searching her face. "I'm always happy to see you," he responded. "There's never a moment I don't want you with me."

"How about now?" she asked. "Do you want me with you now?"

"More than anything," he said, staring down at her. "But why do you want to be here?"

She shook her head. "Does there have to be a 'why'? Can't you just accept that I want to be here? That I want you?" She shrugged. "Maybe I'm just being a selfish little girl and taking what I want. You tried to send me away, but I want to be here – with you."

"Selfish?" He shook his head. "No. You're giving me more than you could ever know."

He stepped away from her and reached for something on his dressing table. An envelope. Turning, he handed it to her.

"What's this?" she asked.

"It's for you. Your fiancé had left it with Madame Giry assuming she'd be able to get in touch with me.

She turned the unsealed message over in her hands. "You read it?"

"Of course I read it," he replied. "You should read it, too. It seems that you and the boy have stumbled onto the same plan to win your freedom."

"What do you mean?"

"Read it yourself. He advises you to do just what you are doing now – feigning affection for me, trying to win my trust."

Christine sighed and tossed the envelope back on the table. "As if you have any trust to win, Erik."

She shook her head and closed the distance between them. "I know you can't trust me, but are you still happy to see me?"

Erik closed his eyes and tilted his head back. "More than you can know." It was almost a groan, an admission pulled unwillingly from somewhere deep inside.

He put his arms around her, looked into her eyes and pulled her to him. "Don't leave me, Christine."

Something stopped her from making a promise. "Kiss me, Erik. Please, just kiss me."

He did as she commanded, and she shuddered in his arms. She felt him smile briefly against her lips, and then he was devouring her once more. For a moment, his ferocity frightened her, but she reminded herself that she wanted this, wanted him – all the fierceness that was Erik.

"I want to see you," he said, raising his lips from hers.

She looked at him in confusion.

"All of you," he explained.

"Oh." She felt a blush stain her cheeks, but she found the courage to reach down and pull her nightdress over her head, leaving her standing naked before his blazing eyes.

They searched her up and down. "You are perfect, Christine. You have no idea how I burn for you."

She stepped closer. "Will you show me?"

"Come here."

She was in his embrace again before she could think, and this time his hands roved over her with free reign, heating the skin of her back, claiming her with their roughness.

More tenderly, he brought a hand around and put his palm against her breast, rubbing her gently.

She gasped for air and arched into his touch. His hand slid into the space between her breasts and down her stomach. It crossed her hip and stroked the top of her thigh.

Breathing heavily, he moved away from her and grabbed her hand to lead her to the bed. She obediently positioned herself on the heavy coverlet.

Once again, he let his eyes rove over her. Then he sat on the edge of the bed and began to caress her thighs – first the outside, then ever so slowly up the inside.

She sat up on her elbows to watch him and breathlessly opened her legs to give him access. He looked at her, and then touched her gently where she had never been touched before. She felt her eyes widen.

"Is this okay?" he asked.

She nodded vigorously.

He smiled and touched her more boldly. When his finger slid inside her, she threw her head back and groaned his name.

"You're ready for me," he said with a modicum of awe.

She looked back up at him, wondering how she could have ever thought him anything but beautiful when unadulterated love shone from his every pore. "I want you, Erik," she said. "All of you. Please."

He stood, hesitated a moment, then removed his trousers. White scars wrapped from the back of his legs to end on the front – clearly the tail end of whip lashes. She hardly saw them. She looked back up into his face and licked her dry lips.

He was on top of her in an instant, giving her a punishing kiss. She met his every motion, the possessiveness of it enflaming her even more. "Erik…" she breathed.

He positioned himself between her legs and rubbed the tip of his shaft along her wet folds.

"Erik!"

"Oh, Christine," he said, sliding the tip inside her.

Her eyes widened. "Oh my."

"Are you okay?"

Again, all she could do was nod. He'd stolen coherent words from her consciousness.

"I think this may be painful for you," he said. "I wish I could change that."

"Just make me yours, Erik. That's all I want."

He groaned and slid his mouth back into its place against hers; then he slid fully into her.

Pain seared into her mind, causing her to cry out.

"Christine?" Erik ran a hand down the side of her face. "Darling, I'm so sorry."

She shook her head, even as the sweetness of being joined to him overcame every other sensation. "There's no pain, Erik. Please, make love to me."

He bent his head to rest his forehead against hers and began to slowly move his hips. She cried out at the wonder of the second stroke and sucked in her breath against the fiery onslaught of the third.

After a moment, he changed his motion, and Christine let out a moan.

"Better?" he asked.

"Perfect."

He smiled at her and slightly increased his pace. She arched into him and began to meet his thrusts. Her hands took on a life of their own, caressing his back and shoulders, pulling him ever closer to her overheated body. She knew she was moaning his name, but it barely registered alongside the passion she was sure would consume her. When she was sure she could take no more, she begged him for she knew not what.

"Oh, Christine…"

He pushed harder into her. Harder and faster and the delicious friction sent her flying in what felt like a thousand directions. Her mind was a clean slate of pleasure, and she wrapped her legs tighter around him, not wanting it to end.

To her relief, his strokes continued to increase their pace. She moaned a breathless 'yes' against his neck and began to kiss him there and down along his shoulder. His pace got quickly more furious, and then he was shuddering in her arms and sighing out her name.

After a few deep breaths, he looked down and met her gaze. She wasn't sure what he saw there, but it seemed to please him because he smiled a genuinely happy smile.

Then he kissed her forehead. "Your viscount is right, Christine. You could ask me anything in this moment, and I would grant it."

She silently cursed him for forcing her to think. But then a plan occurred to her, one that she knew she had to try, even though it would hurt him. She was going to have to break his heart a little more before she could make it whole.

"If you mean that," she whispered, "then give me my freedom."

He dropped his head to the pillow beside her. Quiet reigned between them for long, tense moments. "If that is what you wish, Christine, then that is what you shall have."

He slid slowly out of her, causing her to whimper. Then his mouth was on hers in the gentlest of kisses. She slid her hands into his hair, but he quickly broke the contact.

"You can leave first thing in the morning," he said, moving to sit on the edge of the bed beside her. Then he stood and offered her his hand. "You should go back to your room."

She nodded silently, knowing he wouldn't understand if she asked to stay in the same breath as she'd asked to be allowed to leave. She collected her clothes and slipped through the gauzy curtain of his room.

CHAPTER FOUR

"I have to go out tonight for a bit, Christine," he said after clearing their dinner dishes away.

"Out?"

He smiled. "I do occasionally leave the opera house."

"What are you going to do?"

"You don't trust me? Must I be up to some nefarious purpose?"

She rolled her eyes. "I didn't mean that at all. I was just curious."

He threw on a black cloak that she hadn't noticed lying on the piano bench. "If you must know, I'd arranged a temporary apartment for Madame Giry and her daughter. I want to see if they have everything they need."

Christine felt her brows shoot up. "Ooh. May I go?"

His gaze turned dark. "What's this? Finally heeding your lover's plea to try to find an escape?" He took a step toward her. "I'll never let you go, Christine."

She pursed her lips, deciding that to fight him when he was in this mood would be futile. "May I at least send them my letters, then?"

"Letters?" he asked.

She nodded. "I wrote them earlier, when I thought to have no hope of ever seeing them again – or even of having my letters delivered. I would like to reassure them that I'm okay."

Erik put his hands to his face and ran them wearily down. "I'll give them your letters. But you'll see them again when the opera reopens. You won't always be confined to these quarters. Judging by the noise from upstairs, work has already begun."

"You're so confident of your ability to keep me confined within an entire opera house?"

He nodded. "I am. You'll find no escape that way."

"What about Raoul?"

"I think my threat will carry the day. If he becomes a problem, I may have to make other plans. Viscounts aren't immune to 'accidents'."

"Please don't hurt him," she whispered before good sense could instruct her otherwise.

Erik's gaze turned more malevolent. "Still pleading for his life? You are a scheming wench, aren't you?"

"That's not fair. I just don't wish the murder of a good man."

"Tell me, Christine. Do you regret your choice every single day? Are there any moments when you are happy here?"

She thought long and hard. "I don't regret my choice, Erik."

"I don't think I believe you. You were going to marry him."

She shook her head. "No, I don't think I was. I just hadn't worked up the nerve to tell him. Everyone would have thought me insane. I wasn't quite ready to face that."

"So you chose music over no music." It wasn't a question.

"Yes," she replied, answering anyway. "You give me more than Raoul ever could."

His face grew pained. "But he could give you everything," he whispered. "Everything you deserve. I can only give you darkness."

"I love the darkness when it has you in it, when it carries your voice."

She saw him stiffen.

"Run fetch your letters," he said, turning away from her toward the lake. "I'll deliver them."

She did as he commanded and watched as his form grew smaller across the expanse of candlelit water.

When he returned, she was half asleep on the luxurious sofa. "How are they?" she asked, concerned and hopeful.

He nodded. "Everything is as it should be. They are fine. I have promised to return to them in three days time. They will have letters for me to return to you."

"Oh, really? That's wonderful!"

"Are you so lonely here?"

She laughed. "A bit. I'm surprised to miss the bustle of the opera house, but in some of the quiet moments I find that I do. Other than that…" She shrugged. "You're surprisingly good company."

He smiled at her beneath the mask as his hands went to undo the ties of his cloak. He walked over to her and lay it across the back of the sofa. His black evening jacket followed, and then his hands hovered over the top button of his shirt.

Christine felt her eyes go wide.

Watching her closely, he undid first one button and then another. "I find evening dress very…constraining," he told her.

"Then why wear it all the time?"

He laughed. "I have my reputation as the opera ghost to uphold."

"I thought you'd given that up?"

"I suppose I have, but I guess I just want to look as much like a man as I can for you. You deserve a gentleman, someone civilized. If I dress the part, maybe one day I can be that for you."

She felt her gaze drift to the skin and stretch of chest hair revealed by his now open shirt, and she felt his eyes on her.

"Or would you prefer less of a gentleman, Christine?"

She looked up at him. "I'm sorry…what did you say?"

He watched her for a moment. "Would you like to see me again, Christine? Are you brave enough to say it?"

She almost laughed. "When have you ever known me to be brave?"

He snorted and nodded at her – but he also started releasing the remaining buttons – and Christine found herself holding her breath.

When he shrugged out of his shirt, she couldn't stop her roving gaze.

"Why do you like the sight of me?" he asked. "In this respect, don't I look like any other man?"

"I don't know about other men," she replied, stating what she thought should be obvious. "You just look like Erik. You look beautiful."

"How can you say such things to me?" he whispered.

"It's true," she replied simply.

He growled at her. "Then prove it. Touch me."

When she didn't move, he stalked over to her and pulled her up by her wrists, holding them to his chest. "Touch me, Christine."

She looked at his smooth skin. "I…I don't know how."

Her admission seemed to shake him from his black mood. He released her hands and put his arms around her, pulling her close. Then he placed a soft kiss on the top of her head. "Forgive me," he said. "I would not spoil the thing I love."

Christine suddenly felt that things were going all wrong. She turned her head and placed a soft kiss on the expanse of skin between her hands. She noticed how warm he was, and she slid her hands up to grip his shoulders.

"I don't find you repulsive, Erik," she said, trying to look up at him. All she could see was his jaw, and it was clenched tight. His chest heaved against hers.

"Do you think you could ever love a creature such as me?" he asked, not looking down.

It was her turn to take a deep breath. "I…I don't think I know that yet."

She saw him nod. "But you…you like this? Me holding you like this? Touching me?"

She lowered her head and rested it against his chest. "I do."

"Can I kiss you, Christine?" Now his blue eyes blazed down into hers.

She shook her head. "No," she replied, seeing hope die on his face. "Not with your mask on."

His face grew pained. "Why do you ask that of me? Can't you allow me my dignity?"

"Your mask is not your dignity. It's your fear. I don't want you to be afraid of me."

"Me? Afraid of you?"

She nodded. "You threatened me with an eternity of your face before my eyes. I hold you to your threat."

"But…why?" he asked in a voice that cracked on the question.

"I want to see you, Erik. I want to see your face as much as I want to see the unmarred parts of you."

His face was still pained as he looked at her. "You can't mean that. I know you can't."

"I'm your friend, Erik. I'll never lie to you."

He gave a bitter laugh. "Your very presence here is a lie. This façade of friendship is a lie. I've poisoned it with my ultimatums and my imprisonment. Everything you say is a lie…It must be."

She leaned back against his arms and spread her fingers out against his skin. She slid her hands from his shoulders back down to his chest. When her palms grazed his nipples, he sucked in a gasping breath. Then she moved her hands back up and out to caress his upper arms.

She stopped for a moment to wonder when she'd decided to do this, but it didn't seem to matter as the heat of his skin seared into her. She ran her fingers down his throat, then up along his uncovered jaw. She traced his lips with a single finger, and returned his heated stare.

"Take off the mask and kiss me, Erik."

"But, Christine…"

"You're a very stubborn man."

He lowered his hands to the small of her back and pulled her tighter against him, allowing her to feel his desire. "I am a man, Christine. I just don't want you to lose sight of that. I fear it will be hard for you to remember when confronted with this face."

"You are not your face. I know what you are."

On a heavy sigh, he removed one hand from her back and raised it to his face. The mask came off slowly, and she thought he was giving her time to adjust to the sight.

It was as she remembered, but she didn't feel the rush of pity she'd expected. She reached up to touch the scarred skin, but he shrank back from her.

"Please don't touch me out of pity."

She thought she saw the beginnings of tears in his eyes. "I don't quite know what I'm feeling right now," she admitted, "but it isn't pity. I just want to touch you."

He slowly leaned forward. "No one has ever wanted to touch me."

"Then I'm honored to be the first," she said, grazing his skin with her fingertips. She skimmed over raised scars, sunken scars, the drooping skin underneath his eye. She ran her hand into his wispy hair, then down the back of his head, pulling him to her.

"Would you like to kiss me now?" she asked softly.

He gave a groan. "I've never dared to hope to kiss you."

"But you want to."

"God help me, yes, I want to. I want to so badly."

She stood up on her toes. "Kiss me, Erik. Please."

He slid one hand into her hair and slowly lowered his face to hers, watching her as long as he could. Then he feathered his lips over hers.

She slid her hand down to the back of his neck and pulled him closer, pressing her lips to his this time. They opened their lips at the same time, and the motion of Erik's mouth grew harder, more fevered. His tongue danced into her mouth, and she sucked on it, prompting him to groan and pull her tighter against him.

She briefly wondered where her plan of friendship had gone wrong, but his insistent mouth begged her not to care. And when he released her to rain kisses along her jaw and throat she gave up the analysis. It was too good just to feel what he was doing to her. Just to feel him against her.

She set her hands moving against his skin once more, but then Erik stepped back.

His eyes were wide, and he was looking at her with something between wonder and pain.

"Do you think I'll suddenly take pity on you and let you go?" he asked.

Christine's shoulders sank. "Don't let your fear take something beautiful away from us. Please, Erik. Don't do that."

She looked up to see him shaking, and she moved to stand against him once more. "I don't want you to let me go. Not right now. I want your arms around me."

He gave a strangled gasp. "Do you even know what you're asking?"

She shook her head. "Not really."

He grabbed her arms and dragged her forward for another searing kiss. "Do you like my kisses, Christine? Do you really?"

"I love your kisses. Please, don't stop."

Another tortured gasp, but his lips returned, and she felt more enflamed with every brush of his flesh against hers.

Finally, Erik lifted his head and stepped back once more. "Christine, we have to stop this. I want you so badly, but I want all of you. I don't think you're ready to give me that."

"I…" She really had no answer. She knew too little of what he wanted from her.

Erik raked a hand through his hair.

"Will you leave the mask off?" she asked.

His eyes closed. "If you wish it."

"You can kiss me better without it in the way."

He looked at her. "And will I be kissing you again?"

"If you want to."

He leaned his head back. "I thought I'd run out of prayers, Christine, but you make me beg for patience – and for this not to end."

Christine dragged herself back to her room at his insistence. She watched him as he stood watching her, his face still bathed in wonder. She felt proud to have brought him such an emotion, and she felt bitter disappointment that she didn't know what she was doing. She knew women took lovers all the time, but she'd never considered herself that type of woman. She hadn't even been considering herself a woman for very long. This was all so new.

And why Erik? She couldn't answer that except to surmise that the bonds they shared were growing stronger in their enforced companionship.

A sudden thought flickered into her mind and refused to be replaced. If he released her, would she go? An ache in her chest started up at the thought of leaving him, of not seeing him every day, of not seeing him the way she had seen him these few weeks – smiling, relaxed…longing.

And that was the problem, she thought. She couldn't be his friend because somewhere along the way she'd begun to long for him, too. She longed to feel his beautiful hands on her body.

She let her mind wander with that thought, and others soon followed on its heels – images of mouths and hands. She wanted him, she realized. She wanted him as a lover.

She waited until the notes of his organ ceased and she heard him enter his room. Then she lifted her curtain door and followed him in.

He didn't see her when she entered, and she stood gaping at him again as he removed the shirt he'd obviously replaced. His back was to her, and she examined its network of scars. They were white now, fading into flesh. She wondered what it would take for them to fade from his memory.

She cleared her throat, and he spun around to face her.

"What are you doing here?" he growled.

"I thought you'd be happy to see me," she said. She saw desire flare in his eyes as he took in her flimsy wrap and nightdress.

"You shouldn't be here," he told her.

She raised her hands and untied the gauzy wrap, letting it fall to the floor. "Are you happy to see me yet?"

He grunted and walked toward her, putting his hands on her hips and searching her face. "I'm always happy to see you," he responded. "There's never a moment I don't want you with me."

"How about now?" she asked. "Do you want me with you now?"

"More than anything," he said, staring down at her. "But why do you want to be here?"

She shook her head. "Does there have to be a 'why'? Can't you just accept that I want to be here? That I want you?" She shrugged. "Maybe I'm just being a selfish little girl and taking what I want. You tried to send me away, but I want to be here – with you."

"Selfish?" He shook his head. "No. You're giving me more than you could ever know."

He stepped away from her and reached for something on his dressing table. An envelope. Turning, he handed it to her.

"What's this?" she asked.

"It's for you. Your fiancé had left it with Madame Giry assuming she'd be able to get in touch with me.

She turned the unsealed message over in her hands. "You read it?"

"Of course I read it," he replied. "You should read it, too. It seems that you and the boy have stumbled onto the same plan to win your freedom."

"What do you mean?"

"Read it yourself. He advises you to do just what you are doing now – feigning affection for me, trying to win my trust."

Christine sighed and tossed the envelope back on the table. "As if you have any trust to win, Erik."

She shook her head and closed the distance between them. "I know you can't trust me, but are you still happy to see me?"

Erik closed his eyes and tilted his head back. "More than you can know." It was almost a groan, an admission pulled unwillingly from somewhere deep inside.

He put his arms around her, looked into her eyes and pulled her to him. "Don't leave me, Christine."

Something stopped her from making a promise. "Kiss me, Erik. Please, just kiss me."

He did as she commanded, and she shuddered in his arms. She felt him smile briefly against her lips, and then he was devouring her once more. For a moment, his ferocity frightened her, but she reminded herself that she wanted this, wanted him – all the fierceness that was Erik.

"I want to see you," he said, raising his lips from hers.

She looked at him in confusion.

"All of you," he explained.

"Oh." She felt a blush stain her cheeks, but she found the courage to reach down and pull her nightdress over her head, leaving her standing naked before his blazing eyes.

They searched her up and down. "You are perfect, Christine. You have no idea how I burn for you."

She stepped closer. "Will you show me?"

"Come here."

She was in his embrace again before she could think, and this time his hands roved over her with free reign, heating the skin of her back, claiming her with their roughness.

More tenderly, he brought a hand around and put his palm against her breast, rubbing her gently.

She gasped for air and arched into his touch. His hand slid into the space between her breasts and down her stomach. It crossed her hip and stroked the top of her thigh.

Breathing heavily, he moved away from her and grabbed her hand to lead her to the bed. She obediently positioned herself on the heavy coverlet.

Once again, he let his eyes rove over her. Then he sat on the edge of the bed and began to caress her thighs – first the outside, then ever so slowly up the inside.

She sat up on her elbows to watch him and breathlessly opened her legs to give him access. He looked at her, and then touched her gently where she had never been touched before. She felt her eyes widen.

"Is this okay?" he asked.

She nodded vigorously.

He smiled and touched her more boldly. When his finger slid inside her, she threw her head back and groaned his name.

"You're ready for me," he said with a modicum of awe.

She looked back up at him, wondering how she could have ever thought him anything but beautiful when unadulterated love shone from his every pore. "I want you, Erik," she said. "All of you. Please."

He stood, hesitated a moment, then removed his trousers. White scars wrapped from the back of his legs to end on the front – clearly the tail end of whip lashes. She hardly saw them. She looked back up into his face and licked her dry lips.

He was on top of her in an instant, giving her a punishing kiss. She met his every motion, the possessiveness of it enflaming her even more. "Erik…" she breathed.

He positioned himself between her legs and rubbed the tip of his shaft along her wet folds.

"Erik!"

"Oh, Christine," he said, sliding the tip inside her.

Her eyes widened. "Oh my."

"Are you okay?"

Again, all she could do was nod. He'd stolen coherent words from her consciousness.

"I think this may be painful for you," he said. "I wish I could change that."

"Just make me yours, Erik. That's all I want."

He groaned and slid his mouth back into its place against hers; then he slid fully into her.

Pain seared into her mind, causing her to cry out.

"Christine?" Erik ran a hand down the side of her face. "Darling, I'm so sorry."

She shook her head, even as the sweetness of being joined to him overcame every other sensation. "There's no pain, Erik. Please, make love to me."

He bent his head to rest his forehead against hers and began to slowly move his hips. She cried out at the wonder of the second stroke and sucked in her breath against the fiery onslaught of the third.

After a moment, he changed his motion, and Christine let out a moan.

"Better?" he asked.

"Perfect."

He smiled at her and slightly increased his pace. She arched into him and began to meet his thrusts. Her hands took on a life of their own, caressing his back and shoulders, pulling him ever closer to her overheated body. She knew she was moaning his name, but it barely registered alongside the passion she was sure would consume her. When she was sure she could take no more, she begged him for she knew not what.

"Oh, Christine…"

He pushed harder into her. Harder and faster and the delicious friction sent her flying in what felt like a thousand directions. Her mind was a clean slate of pleasure, and she wrapped her legs tighter around him, not wanting it to end.

To her relief, his strokes continued to increase their pace. She moaned a breathless 'yes' against his neck and began to kiss him there and down along his shoulder. His pace got quickly more furious, and then he was shuddering in her arms and sighing out her name.

After a few deep breaths, he looked down and met her gaze. She wasn't sure what he saw there, but it seemed to please him because he smiled a genuinely happy smile.

Then he kissed her forehead. "Your viscount is right, Christine. You could ask me anything in this moment, and I would grant it."

She silently cursed him for forcing her to think. But then a plan occurred to her, one that she knew she had to try, even though it would hurt him. She was going to have to break his heart a little more before she could make it whole.

"If you mean that," she whispered, "then give me my freedom."

He dropped his head to the pillow beside her. Quiet reigned between them for long, tense moments. "If that is what you wish, Christine, then that is what you shall have."

He slid slowly out of her, causing her to whimper. Then his mouth was on hers in the gentlest of kisses. She slid her hands into his hair, but he quickly broke the contact.

"You can leave first thing in the morning," he said, moving to sit on the edge of the bed beside her. Then he stood and offered her his hand. "You should go back to your room."

She nodded silently, knowing he wouldn't understand if she asked to stay in the same breath as she'd asked to be allowed to leave. She collected her clothes and slipped through the gauzy curtain of his room.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

By dawn, she was dressed and ready, even though she knew it was too early for her to accomplish her errand. She sat down on the sofa to wait for Erik to rise and permit her exit.

When he came out of his room, he was again in formal attire, and the mask was back in place.

He looked at her only briefly, then crossed the room to a device comprised of knobs and levers. It was, as she had suspected, the locking and unlocking mechanism for all the routes into his home. Some of them she knew were rigged with traps, and she had a brief moment of fear that his permissiveness would turn to anger and cause her to fall to her death in a pit or something equally terrifying. Then she laughed at her foolishness. For all his volatility, she knew he wouldn't hurt her – even now, when she was hurting him.

He turned, not really looking at her. "I'll take you across," he said. "Then you know the way out."

"Alright."

She followed him down to the boat. "Don't you even want to ask where I'm going?"

"I think I can guess well enough. I hope you and the boy will be happy enough together."

She looked up at his tall figure. "Do you really imagine, after last night, that I could be happy with anyone else?"

He looked down into the green water and didn't answer.

When the boat stilled on the other side, he helped her out. "Obviously last night didn't mean to you what it meant to me. Nevertheless, I will always cherish it." He took her hand and kissed it. "Farewell, Christine."

She shook her head. "I'll be back, Erik. Leave the way open for me."

He laughed. "Do you take me for a fool? I know my dreams for us were only ever meant to be that – just dreams. Desperate dreams of a madman. Once you are out of this prison, you won't be coming back to me. I know that. Don't torture me by claiming otherwise."

She put a hand to the side of his face. "My sweet Erik."

Her first stop was a café for breakfast. She sat outside in the sun and relished the feel of its rays on her face. She had been too long in darkness.

Her next stop was to see Madame Giry and Meg, to assure them she was alright. Erik had given her the address, and their reunion was a happy one. She stayed to lunch, all the while assuring them that she was making her own free choice to be with Erik.

"So you do love him, my dear," Madame Giry said. "I so long thought it was so, but then the viscount appeared, and, well…"

"And I foolishly latched onto him as my savior."

"And you don't need to be saved now?" Meg asked. "You're really going back to him?"

Christine nodded. "I don't want to be without him. Is that love?"

Madame Giry chuckled. "You definitely have the look of a woman in love. Only your heart can tell you whether that's true."

"Does he have your heart, Christine?" Meg asked with eager eyes.

She thought hard. "It soars when he sings for me or when he looks at me the way he does, with so much love in his eyes. It pains me to imagine his pain or to see his guarded expression when he remembers not to trust me."

"But do you not still love the viscount?" she asked.

Christine's thoughts went unbidden to last night's love with Erik. Something she'd wanted for a very long time if she was honest with herself. Something she'd imagined in moments of privacy, but never dared reach for.

"I don't think I ever really loved Raoul," she said. "He was all flowers and suppers, and what I want is music and passion."

Madame Giry's eyebrow shot up. "I'll have cross words for our phantom if he doesn't intend to make an honest woman out of you."

Christine suddenly wondered at the thought of marriage. Was she ready for that? She felt a smile settle on her face when she thought of how Erik would look at her when she agreed to be his wife. She'd do anything to see that look. To prove herself to him – prove her love to him.

Now she just had to prove it to herself.

She took her leave of the Giry's with a promise to return with Erik in the near future, and then she took a cab to her next stop.

A uniformed butler took her name and advised her to wait in a sitting room off the main hall. She stepped into a space that was impeccably furnished. It bespoke wealth, but not ostentation. It was the picture of good taste, with brown carpeting, cream colored walls and curtains and matching settees and chairs.

Before she could study it further, the door burst open and Raoul had snatched her up into his arms.

"Oh my god, Christine," he blurted out in a rush. "I so thought I might never see you again. Did that monster actually let you go?"

She nodded. "He's given me my freedom."

Raoul hugged her close again, but she put a hand to his chest to keep some distance between them.

"I haven't come to renew our engagement, Raoul."

He looked at her with furrowed brows. "What do you mean? I don't consider our engagement to have ever been broken. I don't blame you for that monster's actions."

She wasn't sure what he meant, but she knew she didn't want him to elaborate further. "He has treated me kindly, Raoul, and I mean to return to him. That's what I've come to tell you – that my choice that night was my unforced choice. That it's Erik I can't live without."

His eyes widened, and then he crushed her to him again. "Oh, the things he's made you think. Can't you see how he's manipulated you? He's twisted your thoughts. He's turned you against me."

She stepped out of his embrace. "I'm no longer yours, Raoul. I never really was. I let you sweep me off my feet with promises of what I thought I should want. But my heart wants him. It always has."

He was shaking his head back and forth. "You can't possibly want that…that creature."

"Don't call him that," she snapped. "You've no right."

"I've every right to call him a murdering kidnapper."

"You'll never prove that he murdered anyone, Raoul, and I know the truth of all these things. I understand his actions. You would, too, if you knew him."

"He's a madman, Christine."

"He's my lover."

Raoul's mouth dropped open, and he took a step back from her. "Is that what you had to do to escape?" He shook his head. "I'm so sorry."

"It's what I had to do to show him I love him."

Raoul's head was still shaking side to side. "I can't believe this, Christine. I won't." He reached out and clasped her hand. "I love you. Does that mean nothing to you anymore?"

"It means I regret hurting you. But hurt you I must. Better that we both learn the truth now than to be stuck in a marriage where I would always be craving the presence of another."

He turned around and put his back to her. "If you mean this, Christine, then leave here and never come back. I won't save you when your little romance turns to death and destruction."

"No, you're no longer my savior, Raoul. I don't need saving."

He turned back to her. "I pray that's true."

She departed without another word between them and began a slow walk back to the opera house.

She passed through every passage and doorway filled with fear that the next one would be closed against her. But none of them were. If he hadn't believed she'd return, it seemed he hadn't quite let go of the hope. That pleased her. He wanted to trust her.

When she got to the edge of the lake, she was surprised to see the boat was on her side. Erik must have gone out. Swallowing her disappointment, she stepped gingerly into the boat and pushed her way across the steaming water.

Once on the other side, she considered how she wanted things to go when he returned. He would be surprised. He probably still wouldn't believe she didn't have some ulterior motive. How could she convince him?

She walked into her room on nervous legs and again surveyed the contents of her wardrobe. Every dress in it was bright and innocent – all save one. At the far end gleamed a dress of the deepest black. It was of fine silk with a tight bodice, a skirt that was only slightly flared, and mock sleeves. It left much of her skin exposed – neck, chest, arms – but only when she put it on did she see its true beauty. The silk was so fine that it reflected back every color of the rainbow. Her bodice was sheened a deep blue, the gathered fabric around her hips returned yellow and red in the candlelight. When she moved, the dress shimmered like a lake surrounded by a myriad of lights.

Yes, this was the dress she would wear. She was no longer the innocent girl. She was the mistress of a man who ruled a dark domain. She would prove to him that she could stand with him, beside him – until the day they were ready to leave the opera house together. And, if he was never ready, if his fears never allowed him to leave this place, she would stay, too. His home was her home now.

She heard splashing and the sound of Erik hesitantly calling her name and ran into the living room. She stood beside the piano as he sloshed up the stairs to the main level.

He stopped at the top step and looked at her – really looked at her. Then she saw him let out a breath. "Christine...?" he asked. His voice sounded like that of a lost little boy.

"I'm back, Erik. I told you I would be."

"How can you be here? You were at the viscount's. I saw you go in." His hesitant gaze turned into a sneer. "You needn't have come back to give me the happy news."

"The happy news? You mean that I've officially broken my engagement with Raoul and finally convinced him that you were my choice – my free, honest choice?"

He took a step toward her, emotions warring across the features revealed by the mask. "Have I left you any room to make your own choice, Christine? Haven't I controlled you from the start?"

She shook her head. "You overestimate your ability to control and underestimate your ability to inspire. You've inspired me from the very start – first with your voice and then with the courage to face what I truly felt. What I felt for you."

"Why do you say such things to me?" His voice was pained.

"Because I love you, Erik. And I need you to believe that."

He looked at her then with a blank expression. Then his eyes roved over her body. "I can't even believe you're here."

"Oh, Erik…" She closed the distance between them. "Believe that I'm here. Believe that I'm here because I love you with all my heart. I can't be without you – even today was too long."

His arms closed about her. "Today was the longest day of my life."

She leaned her head against his chest and began to hum, then sing:

_Say you'll share with me one love, one life time;_

_Let me save you from your solitude._

_Say you'll want me with you, here – beside you._

_Anywhere you go let me go too._

He finished the stanza with her:

_That's all I ask of you._

"Do you mean it?" he asked.

"Every word," she said, nodding.

He pulled her flush against him, pressing her into his hard body. "Feel how I ache for you, Christine. I love you. I love you more than life. Tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours, Erik, forever and only yours."

He pressed her head against his chest and choked back a sob.

"Don't cry, my love," she whispered. "There's no more need for tears between us."

He took some deep breaths, then lowered his head to whisper a feather-light kiss across her lips.

"Do you mind if I ask you a question?" she posed.

"Ask me anything," was his quick response.

"What exactly are your intentions toward me?"

Surprise crossed his face. "My…my intentions?"

"I believe you have a wedding dress stashed around here somewhere."

Erik's eyes got wide, and he dropped to one knee. "Christine? Are you saying…? Are you saying you want to be my wife?"

She smiled at him and leaned down to take off his mask. "Are you asking?"

He laughed. "For the love of god – yes, I'm asking. Christine, will you do me the very great honor of marrying me?"

"There's nothing I want more than to be your wife."

He brought her hand to his lips and graced it with a reverent kiss. "I've already picked out your wedding gift," he said.

"You have?"

He nodded. "I haven't bought it yet, but I picked it out weeks ago. If anyone else had put in an offer, I'd have snapped it up before now. As it is, you can have the opportunity to look at it first and see if you like it. I can have the property manager show it to us tomorrow."

"Do you mean you're buying us a house? Outside?"

He nodded. "I don't want my wife living in a cave."

"But…but…I thought…"

"I know, but none of that matters. Nothing matters if you're with me. If you're with me I can face the sun again, face the stares of passersby. Nothing matters if you love me."

"And nothing matters if you love me. If you want to live down here forever, I'll be at your side. You don't have to leave this place for me."

He shook his head. "In this place I've known nothing but loneliness. I want a new home for our new love."

"I'm sure it's marvelous."

He nodded. "I think so. It's a townhouse, not too far from here. It's on the end, and the walls are well constructed. We can practice without fear of being sued by our neighbors."

"Neighbors…" She pondered the thought that she and the phantom of the opera were soon to have neighbors.

"And the wedding?" she asked.

He nodded. "Let's have it in the house. We can invite the Girys to be our witnesses."

"You seem to have planned quite a bit for not believing that I'd come back."

A blush rose to his cheeks, surprising her. "I couldn't believe that last night meant nothing to you. It was like nothing I've ever even dreamt of feeling, Christine. I had to believe you felt that, too." His gaze darkened. "It was only upon seeing you stop outside the viscount's that I began to lose faith."

"He's nothing to me, Erik. Not lover, not fiancé, not friend."

"Not even friend?"

She shook her head. "If he's not a friend of yours, he's not a friend of mine."

Erik ran his hands through his hair, and then grasped her by the shoulders. "Forgive me, Christine. I should shower you with kisses until you can't draw breath, but I need you too much." His eyes darkened. "I need to be inside you."

Desire coursed through her and raw need rose up to match his own. "I'm yours, my darling."

He kissed her deeply – once, then again. When he wrenched up the fabric of her skirt and found nothing but stockings, he let out a deep groan. "You'll be the death of me," he gasped.

She locked her arms around his neck. "Touch me, Erik."

He moved his hand up the leg she had wrapped around his hip and touched her most sensitive flesh. For a moment, he didn't move – just rested his head against hers. "You're so wet for me."

"Always for you."

He stroked her gently, and she felt herself readying for him. She reached one hand down to the buttons of his trousers, finding him hard and already thrusting into her palm. He reached both hands under her dress, hoisted her up around his waist and pushed her back against the side of the piano.

She guided him into her, sinking down onto him in desperation for the intimate contact. "Don't ever stop doing this to me," she said. "I'll never stop wanting it."

He shook his head, eyes closed, and began thrusting into her with all his pent up hurt, love and desire. Then he looked at her, love shining in his eyes, and Christine tightened her grip around him as the intensity of the moment crested her over pleasure's edge.

"Yes," he called to her, through her haze of sensation. "Do that for me, Christine – only me."

"Only you," she repeated back breathlessly. "Only you."

"I love you, wife," he said.

She looked up and met his gaze. "And I love you, Erik. You are my heart."

With a cry she couldn't decipher – part groan, part sob, part ecstatic shout – he came into her and clutched her to him.

Slowly setting her down, he smoothed his hands along the length of her hair. Tucking himself back into his pants, he stepped slightly back.

"I have a ring for you," he said. "Will you wear it?"

Telling herself she wasn't going to cry, she just nodded while he went to fetch a plain gold band.

"I didn't want it to be anything like your viscount's, but if you think it's too plain…"

She shook her head. "I love it, Erik." She slipped it onto her finger. "It's perfect."

He grinned at her. "I don't suppose I could convince you to wear only the ring for the rest of the time we're here?" His grin widened. "Except maybe for those black stockings."

She felt her jaw drop as she laughed. "It may take me a little time to get used to playful Erik."

"Even I can't be brooding all the time," he replied.

"No?" She arched her brows.

"Well, maybe I can, but I'm turning over a new leaf – no, a whole new life. A life with you. A life with love." His eyes clouded over for a moment. "I've never known a life with love in it. You have no idea what you've given me."

"Erik, you make me feel like the only woman in the world. You've given me yourself, body and soul, and no woman could ask for a more precious gift."

"I love you, Christine. The words hardly seem adequate."

"And your future wife loves you, Erik. Now and always. No backward glances. Only forward from now on. Forward together."

He pulled her to him, and they shared a quiet moment as memories of hurts between them faded into nothingness.

Christine was the first to pull away, but she took Erik's hand in hers. "Come and love me, husband," she said, smiling.

Fire flared in his eyes even as he smiled back at her. "Whatever my diva commands."

_fin_


End file.
